


well i've been afraid of changin'

by gabzebo (orphan_account)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gay Disaster Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Good Parents Maggie & Wentworth Tozier, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26720083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/gabzebo
Summary: It's 1981, then all the sudden it's '85, then the '90's swing on by, and we're here to see it all. Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak change with time, it just takes them time, and a little something.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	1. PROLOGUE/ ONE

**PROLOGUE: LITTLE THINGS AND NEVERMINDS (or, Starty Starts and Endy Ends)**

It's the little things that mean so much.

You wouldn't expect some toy car to mean so much, would you? Would you expect it to be the start of something meaningful? 

Nevermind the fact that it's actually a fifty nine bronze Porsche matchbox, not just a toy car, Richie, it's special. Nevermind that it doesn't matter, Eds, a car is a car, hold your horses, pard'ner.

You wouldn't expect some toy car to mean so much, would you?

Yet, it does. Whether it be a fifty nine bronze Porsche matchbox, a grilled cheese, a convenient near-window-apple tree, or a phone call, it does. It means so much, too much, depending on what half you ask. Nevermind that both sides will give the same answer, "Too much. Holy shit. So much. I-"

The last part doesn't mean anything. We can skip it. We don't need it.

So whatever it may be, it means so much. It's vital. Integral. It's a stepping stone, like one you can skip across a lake, or a sea, it's a sea, dumbass- shut up, fine it's a body of water! Can we settle on that, Mr. fluid genius!

So whatever it may be, it's necessary to a rhythm in which people perform to. In which people grow to like, to love, to hate, and to remember, yet never forget. It's a pattern. It's a way of life. It's a routine. It's _fate._

But you wouldn't expect it to mean so much, would you? A little thing?

******

**ONE: PLASTIC WHEELS AND YOUNGER HEARTS**

 _"Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us." - Richard Siken, Scheherazade_

The toy car means so much on September second, nineteen eighty one.

It means so much when Eddie Kaspbrak is driving it around a track-patterned-carpet, one in a school classroom, a busy, bustling colorful one, with the car held in a vice grip by his tiny hand. It is unknown to him that he is being watched.

Eddie drives the car around calmly, slowly, stopping at all of the traffic lights and pretending they switched from green to red when he got too bored. He hears the laughs of other children, commands of the tired teacher, squeaks of sneakers, and other things alike, but the sounds are far away from him, because they are not important, and if he was close he could get dirty and sick. That's what his mommy told him, anyway- to keep his lunchbox far from other people, to take his pills when his watch beeped, to use his inhaler when he was short of breath, to sit up straight, and to stay far away from other kids. He followed these rules- unbeknownst to how hostile and strict they were, instead relishing in their oddly familiar normalcy, and stayed by his racetrack carpet with his fifty nine bronze Porsche matchbox.

Eddie pretended he was in the car, too, even though he wished it were a shiny blue Cadillac instead if he were driving. He pretended the wind was in his hair, his hands were on the wheel, and his foot was on the gas. Eddie was no older in this fantasy though, because at five years old, he couldn't ever grow up, because he was still good, still clean. Adults were not. If he was an Adult he would have to think and do dirty Adult things, like get a wife and a job and die from cancer, because everything gave him cancer since his dad kicked the bucket, oh _god._ Eddie Kaspbrak did not want this though- he did not want a job or cancer and most certainly not a wife, and more than most certainly, moster certainly, he would not do dirty things. He would not be an Adult. 

Eddie, though, _was_ driving so fast- he was surely doing that, and on a worse day, a sick day, he would be afraid he would just die from going so fast. Maybe his asthma would act up and he would have an attack right behind the wheel. Maybe he would fly right through the window, shattering the glass and breaking his arm. Oh god, his Mommy wouldn't like that. 

It wouldn't happen though. Something- not something _in_ him, not something that he _knew,_ and definitely not _someone,_ would tell him in the summer of eighty nine that that was not how he was going to go. Eddie Kaspbrak would not die so easily, no no. It would be brave, and it would be someone else's fault. He would die, and he would die forever young, would be thirty nine but never get to be a real adult, he would die, but not before he-

It's not important. It doesn't happen, and he doesn't know it. Yet.

He realizes only then that the car has stopped- his hand had stopped moving it- and that it had halted right in the middle of the road. That wasn't too safe, so he moved it and put it in park on the side of the road. Eddie doesn't know it yet, but putting that car in park, picking it up, or even going to that carpet was the best decision he had ever made in his brief five years of life up to this very point. Just then, the most beautiful, bug eyed, Boy- the one who had been watching him, turns him around by his shoulders. All Eddie can do is stare. Well, he can fail at breathing too. He does that along with the staring.

Eddie Kaspbrak has no reason to be at a loss for breath.

He has no reason to be huffing and puffing like some goldfish- or maybe a piranha- out of water, reaching for his blue plastic stick of relief. 

No he does not, not if you were to ask Stanley Uris whom he does not know yet or Bill Denbrough whom he does not know yet or Sonia Kaspbrak whom he does know, whom he is dreadfully the son of, _all_ who do not know or are not very impressed by Richie Tozier and his face.

That doesn't change the fact Eddie Kaspbrak still cannot breathe. Overwhelmed- _there's a Boy touching me with a hand i don't know has been washed, what if he's dirty, what if he'll give me diseases like mommy said what if he's sick am i already sick MOMMY WHERE ARE-_

-and enamored, _i don't even care if this Boy is dirty, he's so beautiful, he's pretty and i don't know what that means, mommy told me you can't see god but if i could i'd thank him, thank him for this Boy-_

Eddie Kaspbrak is so overwhelmed and enamored that he- along with struggling to breathe- has _forgotten_ to do so in the first place, and is now assumed to have died by the Boy in front of him. Well, is he wrong?

"Uhh, hello? Did you die? Are you having a stroke or something? Hello?"

The Boy asks this with big buck teeth framed by chapped cherry lips, and Eddie blinks after what feels like years, because _is this what they cowboys feel like when they get kissed by the lady at the end after they save them?_ On instinct, oh, his stupid insinct, Eddie pushes the Boy off of him and sends him tumbling to the racetrack carpet, landing on Eddie's parked car. Before the Boy can even mutter an _ow, fuck- i mean, heck, shit-_ Eddie is already kneeling beside him, small hand to the Boy's chest, _is he breathing?_ Eddie must not care too much, because he takes his hand away, flinching, like he's been burned.

 _if i touch Boys- Boys like him i can go to Hell Mommy told me i can go to Hell and die and i don't want to die i don't want to go to Hell and get burned and be sick i just want to-_

"Are you okay? Do you have a concushion?" Eddie speaks slightly (very much, it is not slight) louder, and leans in when he says, "Can you hear me?"

The Boy nods, confused, but Eddie doesn't register it as he rambles.

"Sorry for pushing you, I just didn't wanna to go to Hell- sorry, I mean, heck! Okay, uhm, I'm gonna act like I didn't say that. Or push you. Or say Hell- wait! Okay, anyway, I'm Eddie, Eddie Kaspbrak. Nice to meet you- wait, are your hands clean? You know a lot of baceria can live on ha-"

"Woah. You talk really fuckin' fast."

The Boy just blinks- similar to how Eddie himself did prior to this seemingly one-sided exchange, and all Eddie can do is stare back at him, again, and dumbly at that. He does not care about the Boy's profanity, but he knows his mommy would want him to.

"Well close your mouth, cutie, or you might catch flies-"

The Boy says this in some voice- some voice that is not his own and some voice Eddie does not understand, but he can tell that it's an imitation of someone cool- of someone normal, someone not like himself, or he guesses, the Boy. He laughs anyway from his place seated above him, peering down at him, because he finds himself flustered. No reason why, no reason at all.

"Shut up!" 

"Actually, I think you should shut up- because of the flies and-"

"Ugh! Can you just tell me your name already before I shove a puzzle piece up your nose!"

The Boy laughs at him then, and Eddie is so enthralled by the sound, and the fact that _i made him laugh, really i did,_ that he missed the Boy's name all together.

"I- uh- can you say that again? Sorry-"

"That again."

"No!" Eddie giggles and scrunches his nose, scrunches his eyes shut too, and hides his smile behind a previously-car-gripping-hand, and when he looks back up at the Boy again, he swears he's gone tomato red.

"I meant your name- sorry, I got 'stracted and I missed it."

"Promise you won't be distracted by my charming looks this time?"

Eddie says "Nuh-uh." with more of a hum than a verbalization, and emphasizes with a shake of his head. It tousles his neatly combed hair- chocolate brown, curly-but-now-straight-maybe-wavy strands parted ever so slightly to the left, now shaken and messy and relaxed. The Boy ruffles it for good measure before he speaks, because, if you were to ask the Boy himself, Eddie Kaspbrak has the hair that's just _dying_ to be messed with, and, well the Boy is living to mess _with_ it. So he does just that, and doesn't give the smaller enough time to complain when he says in a british Voice,

"My name is Richard Wentworth Tozier the First, M'lady, but my ol' chums and pals call me Richie."

"Nice to meet you then, Richie, wanna play cars?"

"Sure thing, Eds, I'd love to," Richie beams with a toothy, uneven smile from his place on the ground, and Eddie does the same (with an albeit more even grin) right back. Those grins feel like the start of something to Eddie, like a new beginning. Like a car with a new paint job. Like a new Eddie. In these grins are new versions of themselves- a version of Eddie Kaspbrak that Eddie Kaspbrak is not quite privy to. This Eddie is strong- well, stronger than before. This Eddie isn't afraid to love, and knows how to love right. He doesn't love to be protected, doesn't love because he has to, he loves because he wants to and how can he not? This Eddie would hop the first train away from Derry, Maine with a suitcase in one hand, and a certain bug eyed Boy in the other. This Eddie is brave and free.

This Eddie is not one that will ever exist. Or at least, longterm. Missed the train.

This Eddie doesn't know that, though, and maybe there's still time to save him.

Maybe this Eddie can hop in that toy car- that fifty nine bronze Porsche matchbox, and maybe he can ride away and save himself. 

Maybe that's why that toy car means so much.

By this time, Richie has gotten up- stretching dramatically and mewing similar to a cat, probably a feral, rabid one, and Eddie laughs as he hands Richie a car from the car bucket beside him. Eddie picks up his own- the fifty nine bronze Porsche matchbox- and it's still warm from when it was under Richie's back. It gives him goosebumps, and he clutches the car impossibly tighter.

"Whaddya waitin' for, Eds? Let's race!"

"Don't call me that!" Eddie says, as he lines up his matchbox car with Richie's own at the start of the mat, and starts to count down.

"Okay- five , four, three, two, one!" 

With that, Eddie navigates his car through the roads- not weary of stop signs or traffic lights this time, and if he were to close his eyes, he would surely be able to feel the wind glide through his hair. He doesn't though- he looks at Richie instead- tongue poking out, focused, a grin light on his lips.

They both scootch up when the distance gets too far for them to reach, when their small arms can't extend any more, and in a moment's notice, Richie wins by a longshot. Eddie thinks he would protest if it were anyone else.

"And the crowd goes wild! We have a winner-winner-chicken-dinner!" Richie drops the car so he can put his hands over his mouth and fake a screaming crowd. Eddie notices most of his fingers are bandaged. He smiles once again.

"I couldn't have won without you, Eddie Spaghetti! You're my lucky charm!"

"Hey! Don't call me that!"

"Huh?" Richie asks rather dumbly, a smirk playing on his lips. "I seem to not know what you mean, guv'na-"

"Don't call me Eddie 'Scetti!"

It takes a moment, and only a moment, of stunned silence for the boys' laughter to bubble up- up, up, up, and over, until it spills out. Quick note- speech through laughter works about as well as you would think it did.

"That's- that's n- you- 'Scetti!"

"Sh-shut- shut up!"

Eddie fumbles for his inhaler in the pocket of his red running shorts, unable to breathe yet again, but he can't see through happy-tear-clouded-eyes. He can't stop _laughing._ Eddie feels sick with joy. God, oh god it's wonderful.

Eventually, they both quiet down, hush up, and rightfully so, as the teacher calls out that it's naptime. Both parties scurry to their cubbies, running, but careful not to trip on stray toys or children along the way. It's a successful mission, when they both carry their blankets in hand. Eddie's is a knitted one with trains on it. Richie's has the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. As they lay down, finding their respective spots- next to each other, of course, Eddie is tapped on the shoulder almost as soon as he turns away when the lights go off.

"Hey, Eds."

"Don' call me tha'" Eddie stifles out a yawn, and turns to face him.

With a giggle, Richie extends his hand out, something clutched in his palm. "I got you a present."

"Wha-" 

Richie opens up his hand. It's Eddie's toy car.

"Put it in your pocket so you can take it home."

"Richie!" Eddie yells rather loudly, and a few kids turn. He huffs. Quieter, he announces to Richie, "That's stealing! What if we get caught!"

"We won't, Eds. Just do it. Look at it as- my way of asking if we can be best friends. A peace offering?"

Eddie smiles sheepishly, and ducks his head into his blanket. Richie pulls the blanket right back down so Eddie's now blush dusted face is in sight, and he gives a closed lipped laugh, and pushes Richie's seemingly incident-prone-hands away.

"Well, I'm waitin'! Can we be bestest friends or not, Spaghetti man?"

"Only if you stop callin' me funny nignames!"

"Hmph, deal, I suppose-" Richie sighs, dragging out his last word. Eddie laughs again, because Richie just _does that_ to him, he guesses, and the mentioned takes Eddie's hand in his own, and shakes. "A good man shakes on a deal, Eds."

"Hey!"

Richie turns away after that, still snickering under his breath, and Eddie finds the toy car in his hand. Richie must have given it to him when they shook hands, and in a fit of childhood deviance, Eddie pockets the car, because that same old _something_ tells him that it's probably a good idea to do so, not that anything Richie Tozier says seems like a good idea. Eddie will grow to learn that sentiment.

He will also grow to learn just what that toy car means.

A foundation. The clay under the mud, that's under the grass, that's under the flowers. The flooring of a house, or maybe a nice, comfy carpet. The dry ingredients in a mixing bowl. A starting point. The start of fate.

The start of, well, something.

And to figure, it's all just because of some stolen toy car. A fifty nine bronze Porsche matchbox, to be exact.


	2. TWO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's 1984, and it all comes down to a tree, the rain, and a grilled cheese.

**TWO: GRILLED CHEESE AND BACKYARD TREES**

_"It's not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere,"- Richard Siken, Scheherazade_

This time, it's a melty, ooey gooey, grilled cheese- except it's none of those things anymore, not melty, ooey, _or_ gooey because _someone_ was too busy climbing a tree. A dumb tree. And dammit, now the food is cold, or, lukewarm at best- 

Anyway, it's a grilled cheese.

The two have known each other for three years- which entails knowing if the other has an innie or outie belly button, knowing where the other is most ticklish- (for Eddie, under the arms, on the belly, and for some reason, the knees?- and for Richie, on his sides, and begrudgingly, his feet- which Eddie will not touch, therefore never winning the unspoken game)- knowing what flavors of jelly beans are favored by the other's sweet tooth tongue, and of course, knowing which half of the pair is most accident prone.

It's Richie, by the way.

It's nineteen eighty four, and while Ghostbusters is being watched by many at the Capitol Theater, Richie Tozier is being told not to climb trees.

"You're gonna break your legs while I'm trying to eat my grilled cheese samwidge! Richie get down!"

It's a nice day in July- quite hot but still bearable, calm after the storm of the Fourth. The grass is fresh and wet with dew, and the air smells of used fireworks and laundry soap. Eddie Kaspbrak's shrill, childhood yell cuts through the clouds it seems like a firework itself.

"Eds, I'm fine! I feel like a magic stick bird of something, look how high I am!"

"Yeah, I'm looking, and I'm telling you to get down! Come on, your mom made us samwidges and everything!"

Richie couldn't lie- the grilled cheeses smelled _amazingtastic-_ but being in the tree was pretty amazingtastic too. Really, he had just wanted to climb it to show off- gleaming, toothy grin bright, the shine in your eyes that says, _"Look at me! I can be cool! Hey, are you looking?"_

A part of Richie always wanted to show off for Eddie, always wanted to make him laugh, on the surface level. When delving into the deep blue sea, the abyss of an ocean that was Richie Tozier's mind- he always wanted Eddie Kaspbrak to feel loved and wanted and _worthy-_ all those deep, cheesy things that one would hope to avoid, tying cinder blocks to them and letting them drown deep down and far away, as not to think about them. Ever.

For now, Richie just simply wanted to make Eddie laugh. He thought this as he had looked to the sky from where he was, high up, probably two Richie's taller than he was previously- bare feet on the grassy ground- as opposed to high up in this dumb tree. While his eyes made shapes of the moving clouds, one a giraffe, one Eddie's air thingy, one an apple pie from his Momma mags, Richie thought distantly about Eddie's laugh- as clear as a bell, still an announcement of joy through barred baby teeth, covered by a sunburnt hand. Obnoxious, loud, beautiful. Or maybe he was falling back, falling back into a blanket he had set down on the already soft grass, hand flying to stomach, holding in the butterflies and rainbow rays waiting to burst out of this ever-luminous boy, growing giggle open and wheezy and heavenly in the oddest way, laugh sounding like if summer sunshine was a noise. 

Why the thought had forced itself into his head then- he didn't know. Completely unsure. Thought unknown in its entirety. Aware of the cause or not, though, the mental movie of that- that laugh, that beautiful smile set to a scene of shimmering sun and plush, pokey grass- had him smiling dazedly. He must have looked like a real dope. The dope in question looked down at Eddie, seeing the smaller boy had taken to peering up at him. He wears a close-lipped-smile, one clear on his face as he stares, freckled cheeks dusted with a pink that was hard- if not impossible- to ignore. As soon as Eddie processed Richie's own eyes on him, he looked away, and when putting a hand to his temple, a visor, a Richie Protector, maybe, all dreams the other, blinder boy had had about longingly staring into each other's eyes like a cheesy black and white romance movie- were crushed. Bulldozed, decimated, and gone for good.

Well, maybe not _for good-_ he admittedly thought about that quite a bit. But, shh.

The sun seemed to beam down angrily at that, a sweltering heat wave washing over. Richie felt like he was in a deep fryer. He started to climb down for no particular reason as the sun laughed at him, relishing in his defeat as if it were some delicacy- which it was not, even at a measly eight years old, Richie Tozier had stared into the color lacking, dead eyes of defeat more than a handful of times. He ignored the branches that swiftly clawed at his legs and arms, ignored the perspiration itching at his shirt collar, at his bunched-up-mismatched socks, at the nape of his neck. Richie wondered what it would be like to fall down then, to lose all of his balance and hit the ground with a thud. He'd shatter his glasses and get broken lens shards in his eye, maybe snag his arm real bad on a branch if he was lucky. Oh boy, he could only imagine the field day Eddie's tiny, ever cautious hands would have with that.

If the smaller would even help his sorry ass, God- well not God but maybe _fuck-_ yeah, _fuck-_ he could only hope he wouldn't worry Eddie's hypowhateverthehell ass to death. 

"Oh, you're finally joining us, Richard?"

There he was. Cut out of his oddly timed, oddly self loathing thoughts, Richie felt the smile come back to his face, and as did Eddie's, which made him smile wider. Neither of them looked away that time, if that meant anything.

"Who the hell is us?- what, you cheatin' on me, Spaghetti head?"

"Don't call me that!" Eddie huffs, crossing his arms, kicking up grass. He laughs, before finishing. "Hey, I wouldn't marry you if you were the last person on earth, like, ever. So ha!"

"Yeah, I already know, you'd take Pam Anderson all to yourself-" Richie sighs, making a joke of acting dejected. He pauses in his performance to gesture at his lack of upper chest. Eddie has no visible reaction aside from confusion. He's quite lost, and Richie keeps on with his joke."Well, she's hot, but she's not as hot as your mom-" He pauses again to gesture at- well, his entire body- or, his lack thereof- Sonia Kaspbrak is a quite, large- well, not easily replicated woman, if that serves as any explanation.

Eddie would find it in him to laugh if he could even figure out who the hell- _heck, sorry,-_ Pam Anderson was.

Meanwhile, Richie was _fully_ aware that Eddie Kaspbrak couldn't have a clue what Baywatch was, let alone even be within six feet of the comic section in the paper.

Richie abruptly sits down on the blanket below, waving his arm in soon afterward, telling Eddie to "Pop a squat, boyo!"- though the smaller is already seated. Either way, the action still earns a laugh, therefore burying the past remarks and all the confusion they inhabited.

The picnic basket is pushed toward Richie- a possibly forceful action- with Eddie saying afterward, "The food's prolly cold. Your fault- but if you need'a go microwave it, I'll go with you."

"So kind, Eds, yet so mean. You bully me."

"Maybe you need a little bullying, sometimes." Eddie giggles, grabbing an aforementioned sandwich out of the basket, as well as a pack of gummies, and a drink. If his goal is to be slick about checking the nutrition label on the gummies- he fails, miserably. _Still cute though,_ Richie thinks, looking at Eddie's scrunched up face, eyes scanning and scrutinizing the label. _Still cute- little hypowhateverthehell._

He ends up seeming satisfied with the calorie count or the molecular level of sugar or whatever the fuck Richie's junk-fueled-body doesn't care about, satisfied enough, anyway, to hesitantly drop a grape-flavored-gummy in his mouth and chew. Richie himself though, retrieves his grilled cheese- now kind of cold and depressing looking- and goes to town on it as if he was raised in a barn. Eddie can only say as much- mouth _not_ full of food, of course.

"You eat like a real pig, you know that?" He scolds, though his tone suggests he's hiding a slight laugh behind his tongue. Richie only grins- food still in his mouth- and Eddie recoils in disgust for real this time.

"Ew! Richie that's gross! Ugh- ah wait no don't come near me! _Richie!"_

Eddie yells and yells, laughing and crawling away as Richie falis his hands, and though having long since swallowed his display of grilled cheese- makes gurgling and other disgusting noises anyway. The asthmatic shoves him away with his foot, and makes a run for it toward the tree- not before grabbing his juice box, of course.

"No Eds- don't runneth from me, My love, for it was only a joke!" He holds one hand to his heart, one stretched outward as he speaks, trying to sound somewhat Shakespeareian. Richie drops to his knees for effect, as Eddie shoots him a glare from his spot behind the tree, taking a sip of his juice box.

There's a noise, suddenly, and the both of them turn around to see-

"Well hiya, Daddy-o! We're having a picnic, wanna join us?" 

Wentworth closes the front door behind him, wiping off his hands in a fatherly fashion, looking like the funhouse mirror version of his son all the while. Spitting image, really. Though his hair is greying slightly, though his glasses are thinner, though his teeth are in tip-top-dentisty shape, though his shoulders are broader- he's Richie's dad through and through. It's a distant thought in that moment, one thought as Went walks toward the pair, one that Richie doesn't know, but Eddie admires the both of them.

"Maybe the next picnic, kiddo's. I should get inside and wash up, get all of the work off of me," He says, pushing up his glasses. He leans down to give Richie a ruffle on the head, which is responded to with a groan of _"Daaad!"._ Went laughing despite this, does the same to Eddie, asking, "How long you staying, Eddie? Having dinner with us?"

"Uhh, maybe. I dunno, I might have to call my mommy, though." 

When Richie looks over, he can see Eddie's visible shakenness at the thought of his mother. He frowns, and bumps his head on Eddie's arm. The smaller knows what that means, even without words, and he smiles, pushes Richie away. Wentworth watches all of this with a content grin, all knowing. He leans down, sitting on the balls of his feet in an attempt to be (close enough) to eye level, when he makes a suggestion. 

"Well, what about I call her- would that be better? No need to make you do it if you don't want to, Eddie." 

"Really?"

"Really really." Went laughs, nodding assuredly.

"Yay! Spaghetti can have dinner with us! Dad, _Daddaddad-_ can he sleep over- Eds do you wanna sleep over?"

Eddie gives an unsure chuckle, questioning, "Uhh, sure- if it's okay-" 

"Oh of _course_ it is! Right, Dad?" Richie asks, throwing an arm around the other boy. The action sends Eddie into a fit of giggles, pushing Richie's arm off all the while.

Went only laughs at the two, and at Richie's regular boisterousness. He nods, about to talk- but that start of a sentence is all he can get in before he's cut off.

Maggie Tozier's voice, as crisp as fresh apples, and as sweet as one too, drifted through the air from the open window. Richie doesn't miss his chance in giving that smitten-sort-of-dopey smile when Eddie shoots up at Maggie's voice.

"Boys, it might start to storm soon, and I don't want you rascals to get caught in it! Eat quick and then pack it up- do you boys need help?"

"Uh, nuh uh, Mrs. Tozier, we can do it!"

"Yeah Mrs. Tozier, we can do it!" Wentworth calls out in a squeaky voice, before kneeling down yet again, this time to help the boy's clean up their mess of a picnic.

At Eddie's adamant words, and Went's impression, Maggie sends a laugh their way from her place inside, head sticking out of the window. Richie sticks his tongue out at her, a playful, returned gesture, before looking up at the sky. It's starting to dim, starting to gray as if it has gotten old, starting to grow sad due to its old age. Soon, it will cry, making rain, which would make them go inside. Boo hoo, sky.

"Well, okay then you two- well, three! I'll see you inside then!"

"Okay, Ma!" Richie shouts back, leaning over to reach a stray napkin. He feels a drop of rain fall on his hand, and recoils. Not long after, the rain quickens, falling harder, pricking every inch of open skin.

"Shit!" The glasses-clad boy announces, earning himself a "Hey, don't say that!" from the smaller half of the pair.

"Yeah, Eddie's right- where were you raised, kid, in a barn?" Went asks sarcastically. He picks the picnic basket up, covers his head with it, and motions for Richie to roll up the blanket. With the same hand, he guides Eddie under his arm, as to not get soaked by the ever falling rain.

"Mhm, yessiree I was! Moo! Was only taught from the best, Pa!"

"Your cowboy accent sounds like crap." Eddie cuts in, walking away.

"It's not a cowboy, it's a farmer!"

"Same thing!"

"No it's not!" Richie yells back, rolled up blanket under his arm, shirt pulled over his head, as to protect his mop of hair from the rain. If Eddie had turned around, he would have wheezed himself half to death with laughter- Richie was somehow not a worse, more laughable sight than ever- but he didn't.

Before closing the door, Eddie yells back a final "Yeah huh!" to where Richie stands, stagnant and stupid in the yard. Eddie accents his words with the slam of the door. Richie can still hear his laugh from inside, can still partially see his smile.

"Wow." Richie breathes out, smitten. "I'm in love, man."

And he is. He really is. 

Even when Eddie is laughing, slamming Richie's own damn porch door in his face- well, not face, but, you get the picture- he is in love. A pure, childish love, nothing beyond wanting to hold hands and share beds and adopt a pet turtle, nothing beyond that yet, at least, but it's love. Its love, its love, its love. It's the love in held gazes, an invisible wall between them that Richie would- if he was brave enough- take a hammer to, and Eddie, even now, would kick down, full force- if only he knew what it was he was feeling. It's the love in hooked ankles under tables, in shared laughter and shared packs of crackers and shared chairs. It's the love in tumbling off of a bike you don't know how to ride, and getting patched up by someone who doesn't know how to do that, either- but you shake off the tears and fix the bandaid later, telling them thank you, anyway, because you really do mean it. It's the love in losing a tooth and not talking around _him_ because of it, and the happiness you feel when he says that your smile would look pretty anyway, and maybe the gap will make your jokes funnier. It's the love in your smile afterward, because, well, he told you to smile, and you love him, so you smile.

"Rich?" Eddie asks- almost a whisper- and that alone, mixed with the drumming rain, make it harder to hear the smaller boy. After three years though, especially with an inseparable pair like them- reading lips is the farthest from a problem. Richie pulls his shirt back down- consious of looking stupid- and Eddie laughs as if he'd just noticed. He laughs, still, as he opens up Richie's Ninja Turtle umbrella, and laughs all the way as he runs toward the other boy with haste. Eddie's wearing Richie's raincoat, and it's practically swallowing him up- he's so small, and the raincoat, well, is _not._ Richie adjusts his glasses at the sight, as if that will deter his face from reddening even more.

"Holy moly- Richie you're gonna catch a cold out here!" Eddie admonishes, standing up on his tiptoes to hold the umbrella to Richie's height- considerably taller than his own. 

"Here, squirt, lemme get that-"

"Don't call me that! Hey, I coulda just left you out here to get all soggy an' cold!"

"Well, I'm already quite soggy, so-" Richie laughs, taking the umbrella, pressing a kiss to Eddie's freckled cheek. "Ya' missed the mark on that one."

Eddie doesn't seem to react to the action, only really freezes because of it- and Richie takes this as a.. triumph? Yeah, yes indeed, a triumph!

It's more of a triumph when Eddie holds his hand.

Like, really holds his hand. Fucking fingers laced, holding hands.

"Holy shit." 

"Huh?"

"What- I didn't say anything?"

"Yeah you did! You said "Holy- uhh, crap" but, like, the bad word for crap!"

"Uhh, no I didn't!" Richie yells, slightest bit confused, definitely _not_ slightest bit, flustered.

"Ugh, you're so difficult! Let's go inside before we get hypothermia! Or, malaria!"

"What's malaramia?"

Though a certain Richie Tozier never gets that question answered- what _is_ malaramia?- he does get to hold Eddie's hand on the way inside, rain pouring down and clattering onto their umbrella, smiles on their faces as bright and beautiful as the clouds of the day once were. It's a lovely feeling, this love, this day.

Almost, if not more lovely, than a melty, ooey gooey, grilled cheese.


	3. THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again! sorry this chapter is quite late- a lot of things written for this fic were written, just polished up- but this one i had to complete entirely! in future updates, expect a three-six day wait for that chapter- sorry if any inconvenience! anyway, happy reading!

**THREE: BLANKET FORTS AND SHARED EARBUDS**

_"How we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days were bright red," - Richard Siken, Scheherazade_

In nineteen eighty six, The Smiths released _”The Queen Is Dead,"_ an album Richie Tozier did not yet know, but would be on repeat- as if it were superglued in his Walkman- all throughout the summer of nineteen eighty nine, and would be revisited for two weeks in nineteen ninety four, due to either the best reasons, or the worst.

In nineteen eighty six, Queen released _"A Kind of Magic",_ which was on a totally different side of the music spectrum than it’s apparent counterpart, but an album nonetheless, that Richie had stolen a cassette of from Blockbuster. He had done this only to present the cassette to a once beaming Eddie Kaspbrak, on a breezy, almost summer day in June. Eddie Kaspbrak, who was no longer beaming, moreso, scolding, after finding out it's stolen, not paid for, smuggled, _thefted_ origins.

Though that spiel had only taught Richie how many different ways someone could say “stolen”, it also reminded him of how cute the fiery hypochondriac could look, even when screaming his head off about stealing. His hair shining in the sun, brows furrowed and displaced comically upward, freckled hands and freckled arms flailing, eyes scrunched in his fit of false anger. In short, he looked very pretty that day- and Eddie had loved the record anyway. This caused Richie to not take the cassette out of his Walkman for a month straight, just in case Eddie would ever want to share the headphones with him- just in case- and in no way stopped him from stealing.

The boy did, of course, take him up on that headphone offer, much to the delight _and_ chagrin of Richie Tozier himself, now currently blushing out of embarrassment _and_ enthrallment, all the way up to his chunky, oversized glasses. Even the tips of his ears were red, though hidden by tufts of curly, messy hair.

Well shit, he was a mess. If only he could see himself- he looked like a blind fucking firetruck.

The boy beside him, that same fluster-impending Eddie Kaspbrak, didn't mind Richie's imminent redness, having been used to such a thing. Maybe he was even _oblivious_ to it- who knew? Maybe he just brushed it off as a summer color, or some allergic reaction to whatever the fuck. Screw the details, Richie knew for certain that, now- yes, now, actually- they were sharing said headphones, little noisemakers sat between the two of them who were lying on Richie’s unmade bed, (for now) on opposite sides. Eddie was laying on his stomach, kicking his still-socked-feet up and down- they were those balls on chains in Newton's Cradle, each foot threatening to hit Richie with a _"thwack!"_ from where he was laying- on his side, lovestruck, cartoon-heart-eyes-gaze on Eddie- the boy humming along to the music as he swung his feet.

The bed seemed all too small for someone so hyper-aware of every possible touch they could share. Richie figured he could force a pillow between them, move away, even, scootch the hell over- hell, even _roll himself onto the fucking ground for all he cared._ Or maybe, just maybe, he could learn to not care at all. He would, he really would, if it weren’t absolutely-

-Impossible.

Impossible it was, Impossible with a definite capital “I”, and with that, sparked a _’Fuck.’_ _’Fuck’-_ it was a distant thought, a constant one, floating around at all times in Richie’s head. The notion seemed far away, echoing, but never not there. It got louder as the thoughts multiplied into more, tiny, little thoughtlings. _‘Fuck. He's so pretty. I think if he laughed right now or looked at me or kept doing what he's doing, I dunno, I'd just about fall off of this bed and into a void and die.’_

And he would, really, at the drop of a hat he would. He’d do anything for Eddie if he asked, he was sure, even at ten, that he would do something as outrageous and gaudy as give his life to him, just because he could. He would put it in a box and wrap it with a nice little bow, too, just because he knew Eddie would think it looked nice. 

"Richie? Rich? Hey- hey, stupid- hello?"

Speak of the devil. _Fuck._

"Uh- whuh- huh- hi?"

"Did you even hear a word I said?" Eddie asked, thumping Richie's temple. He rolled over, sat up.

Well, the answer, to the shorter boy's question, was- to be quite frank- _fuck no,_ but be damned if that was something Richie Tozier admitted. In place, he gave a nervous laugh, to which he earned a glare, to which Richie shut his mouth with a _"snap!",_ a nervous grin stretching across his face, eyes flicking to the side. He looked like someone from a cartoon after getting bonked on the head with an anvil, or something wild like that. 

Eddie only laughed at him- was he endeared? Did Richie Tozier do something _endearing?-_ he didn't know, but he _did_ know that that little laugh-smile-nodding-head number, yeah, that lovely little thing, was now, gratefully, burned into his retinas.

"Okay, well, I _said-_ well, asked- ugh, nevermind, it's embarrassing-"

"Awe, is my little spaghetti man _embarrassed?_ Cute, cute cu-"

"I'm not your anything! Shut up! I'm- ugh, fine, idiot! I was gonna ask if you wanted to build a blanket fort with me, I thought it'd be.. cool.. but-"

Richie only looked at him- eyes wide, magnified even more so now- before nodding vigorously and surging up- "Yes! Yes, yes, yessiree, pard'ner! Come on now boyo, let's go before the guns start shootin'!"

He grabbed Eddie's hand then, still blabbering in whatever southern accent he was using- not realizing what he had done in the moment- the action pulling a flustered, butterfly-filled Eddie up from his seat, practically dragging the hypochondriac (and his own blankets) with him. 

If only Richie had thought (who woulda’ thunk, Richie Tozier _thinking)_ -a moment longer, had had someone else, someone else trusted like Stanny or Big Bill around, maybe he would have thought- _what if someone saw? What if someone thought I was a queer for holding his hand? What if they knew that I really did want to, or that sometimes I **did** eat meat on Fridays? What if they knew what I was and they killed me for being it?_

If only a moment longer was wasted on thoughtless thoughts,- _what if they killed him too, because of me, because of what I'd done to him?-_ would have been the largest, brightest, shiniest thought in Richie's big block head.

However, Richie didn't think, of course. He didn’t, not today. Maybe later, though- but now was not later.

He led Eddie down to the storage closet instead, the one under the stairs which they had ran down, not much of a thinker, but not much of a leader, either. They were still hand in hand, still not thinking as they approached. The door swung open with a _"whoosh!",_ due to Richie’s ever-energetic self, and it didn't take him much longer after that to grab more blankets than his longer-than-Eddie's-but-still-tiny, ten-year-old arms could carry. He did all of this with a devilish, sort of scheming grin, and if he had looked behind him, for just a split second, he would have seen Eddie's adoring gaze on those lips, on that grin, while the latter didn’t even know what it meant.

Richie Tozier didn't look though, he didn't, and that missed chance cost him years.

The years didn’t pass by now, though, because that was later, in years time, and this was now.

Eddie reached out for his share of the blankets- falsely volunteering to lighten the load, though the mass of blankets couldn’t have been that heavy, and when Richie reached out to hand them off, Eddie had snickered and ran away.

“You’re so mean to me, Eds, so cruel!” Richie yelled, slamming the closet door with a foot, fake crocodile tears laced in his voice. He could hear the shorter shuffling around in the living room, moving something, but he couldn’t tell what. He walked out of the small hallway, hoping he could scare Eddie from behind as he shuffled whatever had been being shuffled.

“Well, you deserve it, four eyes!,” Eddie had started, as Richie quietly, stealthily dropped the blankets in the dining room in front of him. He hid behind the quarter-open sliding door that separated the dining room from the living- where his opponent lied. He snickered from his place, weary not to lean on the wooden door. 

“You never wash your hands, and you always dress like it’s summer in those stupid hawiian shirts, and you like pineapple on pizza! Ew! So, in _my_ opinion, carrying a few extra blankets should be a-”

“Boo!”

“Agh! Richie- Jesus!” Eddie yelled, stomping and flailing in front of Richie, who was bent over in gales of laughter, holding his stomach like his heart would burst out if his hands couldn’t help it.

“You shoulda’ seen your- you- Eds!-”

“No, nononono, _no,_ shut up! That wasn’t funny! I hate you!” Eddie laughed, cutting the other boy off, contradicting his own words. Richie shot out lanky arms at him, grabby-hands proposing a hug.

“Truce?” He pleaded, bringing one hand up, wiping stray tears from the corner of an eye, glasses lifted up to his hair as he laughed. Richie’s other hand was still held out expectantly as Eddie sighed in front of him, turning away with an attitude unmatched, leaving Richie in the dust. 

He didn’t walk away though, only turning, pausing, waiting for Richie’s expected noise of-

“I’m offended, Eds!”

-offence. Richie rambled on, talking with his hands, putting his whole body into his speech, making ever the fool of himself. Eddie still stood turned away from him, arms crossed over his chest, smirk growing on his face, though the blinder couldn’t see it.

“You just gonna leave me in the dog house- after _all_ that I’ve done!” Richie exaggerated. “May as well kick me out and give me directions to the homeless shelter! I could get my walking shoes, too, and I-”

Eddie, not being able to hold back, launched at him. He wrapped his tiny arms around the boy’s tiny waist, burying his head in Richie’s chest to avoid any all-telling eye contact. Richie of course, was bewildered at the action, so much so that he had just about stopped breathing, In that moment, he could have sworn that his heart had taken charge of his entire body. He didn’t want to feel what he was feeling, but, _man,_ was it unavoidable. The smaller part- if there was even one part at all- of his seldom-functioning brain, with it’s flashing lights and sirens, told him to “break away! Get out while you still can!”, but he couldn’t. Or maybe, he just wouldn’t.

His heart hammered a thousand miles an hour as he smiled, a rather odd mix of content and worry bubbling in his chest as he rested his head atop Eddie’s own. He had forgotten to look around before he did so, had forgotten to be watchful, to see if anyone was seeing the real side of him. He couldn’t put on a Voice now, or laugh real loud, or do much of anything. This was Richie Tozier, all real, no bullshit, no Voices or masks, bright lights of the stage shined on him, as if what he was doing was watchworthy.

Neither of the two knew when to let go, but it was possible neither wanted to, anyway. Richie was thinking too much though, thinking, thinking, and he forced himself away before he started to think much, much worse. He was sure that if anyone wanted to, they could bust right through his door and carry him away, put him on a stage like the town fool he was and guillotine him right in front of Derry’s pairs of watchful eyes. He was sure of it, and at times, he even wished it. That, that would at least save his asshole self from the eleventeen ways he could get rejected, disowned, or kicked out by his family and friends alike. It would at least be a way to get some attention, too. To wriggle his way into the headlines of the Derry News, titled “Richie Tozier- Bug Eyed Freak, Town Homo, Executed Earlier Today!”

He hadn’t realized that these thoughts had sent him all the way out of the room, into the kitchen, under the countertop, until it was too late, and he was already there. Richie felt spiderwebs on his fingers, saw undetected messiness of crumbs from past lunches, but he didn’t mind. He was sure Stan would, Eddie definitely would- hell, anyone with half a mind would, but he didn’t. All that mattered to him was hiding. It wasn’t even Halloween and he felt like the scariest thing since _The Shining._ He didn’t hear Eddie’s footsteps behind him, any _one's_ any _thing_ behind him, only in tune with his own apparent self-loathing. He hid, and had done so, as not to hurt anyone- even though, if need be, he was okay with hurting himself. 

Richie had looked up to the fridge then, tucking his knees under his chin, hugging them with his arms, and had only then seen something that made him start to cry. 

A photo of his mother, himself, Eddie, and Stan from last year, posing in front of the sign for Derry’s town fair. The picture was hung up with a cat magnet, one that Richie had bought for his father, reading “Me-wow!”- their picture-eyes were bright red, demonic dots, and his own were looking right at Eddie. His spaghetti arms were hooked right around the other boy, clasping him in a hug that Eddie was visibly trying to squirm out of, freckled face painted with features telling of a happiness horribly hidden by annoyance. Both Stan and his mother smiled happily into the camera though, faces illuminated in all colors by the fair scenery behind them. Richie’s eyes weren’t on them, though, as much as he loved the two- his magnified, Mr. Magoo-looking lookers were on Eddie, instead, because they always were. 

The only thing holding him back from grabbing the picture right then and there, or grabbing a tissue for his own runny nose and eyes, was his own fear of getting caught, and of being questioned on why he had wanted either in the first place. He instead, stayed hidden under the seafoam countertop, for once in his life, afraid of being seen. 

“So where is he, Eddie?” He heard his mother say behind him. He instantly froze up. Stayed quiet. Adjusted his glasses.

“I dunno- I think in the kitchen, or maybe outside. He left and then I stayed, I didn’t want to like, bug him an’ stuff-”

“I don’t think he’d mind too much at all if you bugged him for eternity, honey.”

Richie could hear their conversation- they were either on the bottom step of the stairs, or in the small hallway that had started his whole mess. He laughed slightly at what was being said, but the fear engulfing him that his mother _did_ really know that much about him scared him, in a way. Stopped his laughter, no matter how slight. He quieted his sniffles and wiped his nose with the bottom of his shirt as Eddie spoke.

“Well oh jeez, I dunno about that one.”

“Trust me, Eddie. Don’t tell him I said this, but you’re most definitely his favorite thing. Just keep that in mind. I think you kids have a lot of, uh, _feelings_ that you don’t know about yet, but you will. Or at least, you better, I’ll make ya’.”

“Oh.” Eddie had simply replied, and Richie couldn’t tell what exactly the shorter had been feeling, but knew he himself would have just said the same damn thing. 

“Sorry if that was too much- I just wanted to let you know that, well, that it’s okay- You know what, I’ll just hush up. Let’s find your boy, Eddie dear, and maybe I’ll help you two build your fort, how ‘bout that?”

“Uhh, yeah. I think that that sounds just swell, Mrs. Maggie.”

Richie could hear the lilt in his voice, and he almost beamed himself- though it didn’t last long, upon realization- ‘They’re going to have to find me.’ 

He hoped it was his mom who would find him. His mom would save him the pain of explaining himself, but at the same time, was opening up to your own mom any better- verbal or not? If it were to be Maggie who sought him out, her kind eyes and crooked smile looking down at him, all he would have to do would be to say that he was fine, give her a half-assed hug, and move on.

With Eddie, oh no. It would be so, so much harder. 

So hard, in fact, his mind didn't even think of a "That's what she said!" joke. Sheesh.

Due to this, he stayed deathly still as they looked, and due to their close distance, it didn’t take Eddie long to scope him out. Fuck. Richie practically blinked and then there he was, back leaning against the fridge, legs extended out, too short to touch the countertop but long enough to make Richie aware of their close proximity. He gulped, and somehow, that was funny.

"What's up with you today?" Eddie started, and oh, was there a long list of answers for _that one._ "You've been- well, shit, I don't know how to explain it! You've been like, not Richie-y all day!" 

He must have realized he was getting louder, and Richie found himself smirking at him, despite still wading in the murky, moody waters of confusion. 

“I mean- just, you okay, Rich?”

“Yeah,” He said, words coming out like wood on sandpaper. He coughed and sniffled- sniffling completely defeating the purpose of his last action- but he spoke again. “Yeah, I’m doin’ fine, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Richie tried his hand at a smile, but it only wobbled, almost immediately falling. Eddie laughed at his attempt, a quieter sound, calm laced with all of the joy one world could hold, and then he found his smile to be real. 

“Well, if you aren’t okay and stuff, that’s fine, I just don’t want you to be scared-”

“Of what?”

“Of me, I guess-”

“Eds, you’re like, three feet tall. I don’t think you could scare a fly-”

“Hey!” Eddie exclaimed, bending back his knee, shoving his foot all accusatory to Richie’s chest. For a second, Richie looked down, hoping Eddie couldn’t feel his heartbeat, only to look back up, to be reeled back in again by that raging sea of a boy. “I’m like, 4’6, so shut up!”

Richie mimes zipping his lips, throwing away the key, making sound effects for both actions. He sees Eddie stand up then, some sort of kind pride, delight coming off of him in waves. All four feet and six inches of him had some sort of look that Richie couldn’t place, like he was new, like he’d had some stay at a self exploration retreat, and suddenly, he was a new man. He didn’t know why Eddie had hand such a look to to him, but it’s not like he had _minded._ It fit right. Looked pretty on him, like everything did.

“C’mon, get up, asshole.” He laughs, extending a hand out for Richie to take. He’s worried at first, afraid to touch him, new Eddie or not. He doesn’t know if he should give in. Richie looks up again- all it seems like he’s doing is looking, watching, waiting- and he bets he looks like a kicked puppy. He sees Eddie mouth something along the lines of _”It’s okay,”-_ completing his remark with a gesture of unzipping his lips, pocketing the key- and something about it makes Richie think he’s right. It is okay.

He grabs Eddie’s hand, and doesn’t think he can ever let go, and to no one’s surprise, he really never does.

**Author's Note:**

> well hi guys! sorry i'm never active on here- god i wish mh google docs was just open to the world- or, maybe not, on second thought, but trust me, i'm alive! i have a ton of wips and a ton of time, so get ready folks!


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